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“B, please, I’m sorry,” Jason begs with a sob. Tears, streaming down his face, have loosened his domino. All he can taste is salt and the blood from where he bit his lip and tried not to scream. He attempts to pull against his restraints again, but the prometheum cuffs are Bat-proof. He’s not going anywhere.
Bruce says nothing, and the whip comes down again and again, tearing into Jason’s bloodied flesh.
It’s not him. Not really. He’s been mind-controlled.
(Mad Hatter is sitting off to the side, enjoying the show, probably with some fucking popcorn or whatever as Batman tortures his own son for Hatter’s entertainment.)
Except… it is Bruce. Those are his hands bringing the whip down over and over onto the tattered ribbons of Jason’s naked backside. Those are his grunts punctuating each punishing lash. Those were his brutal moves which took Jason down, stripped him, and strung him up in chains.
Another strike of the whip pulls another cry of pain from Jason’s lips.
And Bruce knows how to hurt Jason.
He knows Jason’s childhood triggers. He knows the jingle of a belt leaves him terrified as the strikes of Batman’s utility belt begin to alternate with those of the whip. He knows that being called useless trash leaves him in tears. And Bruce — a prisoner in his own body — can’t stop himself from opening up these wounds literally and figuratively.
It’s not Bruce’s fault, Jason tells himself.
“Dad, please!”
Of course it’s not Bruce’s fault. It’s Jason’s.
He was Batman’s backup and didn’t get to him in time to save him from Mad Hatter’s control. And besides that, Jason can’t help the sinking feeling that he deserves this somehow.
He’s got so much blood on his hands since coming back to life, and he and Bruce will never agree on their ideology. He’s disappointed Bruce so many times. Maybe this is just what he gets for being Batman’s greatest failure.
Jason is the twisted mockery of the memory of Bruce’s beloved son, who never should have crawled out of his grave. Of course he deserves this.
And besides, this is what dads do: they hurt their sons.
He slumps against the chains, sagging, and tries to just… go away , not be here anymore. But his back, torso, and ass feel like they’re on fire and are in too much pain for him to truly dissociate.
Mad Hatter’s laughter is suddenly cut off with a gurgle, and the next bite of the lash never comes.
“Oh god, Little Wing!” Dick’s voice is filled with heartbreak as he unlocks Jason’s chains, and Jason collapses against him.
“B?” he asks.
“He is never touching you again,” says Dick with an unspoken promise of violence.
“‘s OK, Wing,” Jason mumbles. His vision is blurring, and the merciful darkness is finally starting to overtake him. “‘s what I get.”
=====
There are voices outside the Cave’s medbay that wake him up.
“Please, let me just try to apologize to him.” Bruce has never sounded so devastated before.
Jason is lying on his stomach while Alfred carefully bandages his back. There’s already a bandage around his neck where Bruce had traced over the Batarang scar.
“Don’t you fucking dare, B,” Tim hisses. “He needs a chance to feel safe, and that won’t happen with you hovering nearby.”
“Not anytime soon with the way he was blaming himself,” says Dick. “Just give him space for now.”
“Just… tell him I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” is the last thing Jason hears before he’s drifting again.